Contrastingly Similar
by Someone aka Me
Summary: Percy and Oliver have always been polar opposites: the athlete and the brainiac. But when they become the only two Gryffindor boys in their year, they must learn to understand one another and find common ground. Eventual Percy/Oliver.
1. Chapter 1

This is for the "twelve chapter story" challenge, which means it will be one chapter per month for this year. **This means updates will only come once a month**. This is because prompts come only once a month. I apologize for the infrequency – it's in order to accommodate more challengers.

Prompt for January: cheating.

"_Contrastingly Similar"_

"Oh, come _on_, ref! Foul! FOUL! That was obvious cheating! Seriously? This game is under protest! Rigged, I tell you! Rigged!"

"Oh, please," Percy mutters under his breath. "It's just _Quidditch_."

The boy in front of him whirls around, eyes blazing with intensity. "Just _Quidditch_?" he yelps. "_Just_ Quidditch?" He seems utterly appalled.

"Honestly," Percy says. "It's just a game."

Something unrecognizable flashes in the boy's eyes. "Just a game? How can you say that? It's Quidditch!"

"I'm aware," Percy says flatly. He'd told his father that he'd much prefer staying home with his books than going to a Quidditch game, but, given Dad won tickets for the whole family, he insisted. Most everyone else was ecstatic. Charlie – who played for Gryffindor – especially, and Ron because it was the Cannons, but everyone else, too. The Weasleys so rarely got chances like this.

So Percy finds himself an unwilling spectator at the Chudley Cannons versus Puddlemere United game, because it's a _"family bonding experience."_ Though, honestly, sitting at the very end of the long row, he's hardly interacting with his family at all. He's interacting more with the Quidditch-obsessed boy in front of him.

Speaking of the Quidditch-obsessed boy in front of him – the boy speaks up. "So you honestly don't like _Quidditch_?" The boy speaks with an incredulous tone that conveys that fact that this seems completely unfathomable to him.

"I don't particularly care for it, no," Percy says. "It's a largely pointless game, frankly."

The boy gapes at him. "_Pointless_? What is-"

"PUDDLEMERE SCORES!" sounds over the roaring crowd.

"What?" the boy exclaims, whirling back around to face the pitch. "How did that happen?"

The man sitting next to him reprimands the boy. "You ought to pay attention, Oliver." The boy – Oliver – nods.

Percy glances at George, who's next to him. George is staring raptly at the pitch, and Percy figures he won't much care – if he even notices – so Percy slips down a row into the empty seat next to Oliver, so that Oliver won't have to turn around. Percy finds that he's actually mildly interested in this conversation – perhaps this boy can explain to him the draw of the sport he just doesn't understand.

"Sorry," he says lightly. Oliver jumps, not expecting the voice from the direction it comes. "I didn't mean to get you in trouble."

Oliver shakes his head, keeping his eyes on the pitch this time. "Da's not angry," he says. "Not really."

"Good," Percy says, but then he's not really sure how to continue. This turns out not to matter, because Oliver speaks.

"So you honestly don't like Quidditch?" he asks. He can't seem to get the idea to sink in.

Percy shrugs. "I've honestly never much seen the point."

Oliver shakes his head again. "That just doesn't make sense to me. I mean… It's Quidditch, for Merlin's sake! It's not about having a _point_, it's about the thrill of it!"

Percy raises his eyebrows briefly. "Excuse me if I don't exactly see the thrill of watching people soar about on broomsticks."

Oliver glances at him quickly before returning his eyes to the field, where the Keeper for Puddlemere United has just made a spectacular save.

"THAT'S IT, RICHARDS!" Oliver roars, springing out of his seat. Percy winces, covering his ears. Sitting down, Oliver grins sheepishly. "Sorry. I get a bit excited."

"Really?" Percy drawls. "I hadn't noticed." He's not usually much for sarcasm, but there's something about the mischievous glimmer in Oliver's eyes that draws it out of him.

Oliver chuckles lightly. He glances at Percy again, then he sticks out a hand. "Oliver Wood," he says.

"Percy Weasley," Percy says, taking the hand.

Oliver turns back to the pitch, and he's shaking his head once more. "I don't get you. You don't see the thrill of Quidditch…"

"Explain it to me, then," Percy invites.

Oliver laughs. "I'm not really sure I can."

"Try, then."

"All right. Well, watching it's different, of course. Watching Quidditch is all about the competition – it pits people against each other in sheer physical ability. It's like… It strips everything else away and just leaves, well, survival of the fittest, y'know?

"But _playing _Quidditch… Nothing beats that feeling. Nothing. It's just you and your skill, because if you fall, there's nothing between you and the ground. It's… exhilarating. It's not safe, not by any means, so you've got to really _trust_ yourself, because up in the air, no one's going to save you. It's just… you. And 'everybody else' becomes your teammates, who you have to trust explicitly, and the other team, who you have to distrust on principle, and their goal is to stretch you to your limits, to see how far you can go."

Percy purses his lips, considering this. "And you _like_ that?"

Oliver turns to look at him, hazel eyes glowing. "Definitely." An impish, gleeful smile flits across his face. "That's why I love being Keeper – you become the one thing really standing, or, well, sitting, between them and a goal."

Percy tips his head, accepting this. "All right then."

Oliver glances at him curiously before turning his gaze back to the field. "Does that- GO, MARKS, GO! HONESTLY! STOP GOING EASY ON HER BECAUSE SHE'S A GIRL AND CATCH THE SNITCH!"

Percy puts his hand over his mouth to muffle his laughter. Oliver doesn't seem to notice.

"C'mon, c'mon! Almost, almost- YES! YES! HE DID IT!"

Over the intercom, Percy hears what he's already figured out; "And that's Adam Marks with the snitch! PUDDLEMERE WINS!"

Oliver is jumping up and down in he seat. From a row up, Percy hears Ron loudly voicing his disappointment. Percy himself is just rather amused.

Oliver turns to him, grinning broadly. "PuddlemerePuddlemere won!"

"So I heard," Percy says wryly.

Oliver shakes his head at Percy's disappointing level of enthusiasm. He can't seem to keep the grin of his face and Percy smiles in return; Oliver has an infectious grin.

"I'll show you sometime," Oliver promises, and Percy ducks his head shyly.

"I'd like that."


	2. Chapter 2

February's prompt: Mean by Taylor Swift.

* * *

"Go on, then."

Oliver smiles and immediately scampers off toward the Quidditch section of Flourish and Blotts. He can tell without looking that his Da is grinning at him knowingly as he collects Oliver's school books.

Before making it to the Quidditch section, though, Oliver freezes in his tracks as an entire bookshelf rattles. Oliver peers around it, not without trepidation. His eyes narrow.

The scene is nearly familiar enough to give Oliver a sense of déjà vu, though the setting is different. Avior Nott, a thick, muscular fourteen-year-old, is towering over a tiny kid whose face Oliver can't see. The kid is backed against a bookshelf, and his hands are trembling, his posture hunched. It's eerily reminiscent of a similar situation Oliver came across three years prior – Nott towering over some defenseless kid – only that was in the boys lavatory at a Puddlemere U game, and Nott wasn't quite as intimidating then. And Oliver's father had been there, that time.

"Nott." Oliver's voice is cool as he rounds the bookshelf.

The taller boy looks in his direction.

"Wood," he replies, just as cooly. "Still sticking your nose where it doesn't belong?"

"Still tormenting those too small to defend themselves?"

"Still delusional enough to think you don't belong in that category?"

"Still stupid enough to believe size is the only thing that matters?"

Avior Nott scowls darkly. Oliver can't help but smirk slightly.

"Where's your father, then, Wood? Not around to protect you, is he?"

Oliver shrugs. "I don't need protection. And how about you, then? Daddy still hiding out from the Aurors?"

Nott snarls. "My father was cleared, as you well know!"

Eyes flashing, Oliver counters, "Only because he has friends in high places." Nott looks near ready to jump him, so Oliver changes the subject. "How about you let him go?" He nods to the boy Nott has backed up against the bookshelf, realizing for the first time that he knows who it is – it's Percy Weasley. "What did he ever do to you?"

Nott shakes his head. "Not what he did; who he is. Weasleys are blood-traitor scum." He says it casually, as though it's nothing to insult a kid and his entire family for no good reason.

Oliver's eyes flash again.

"You know what you don't really seem to understand, Nott? The world isn't going to run like this forever. At some point, being strong isn't going to mean you're at the top. You're a bully. But this kid–" Oliver gestures to Percy "–he's going to matter someday. He's clever enough to _use_ the brain he's got on his shoulders, and he's going to _be_ somebody. You, though? All you are is mean, and a liar, and pathetic, and alone in life. And all you'll ever be is mean. You're going nowhere."

"You cheeky little…!" Nott leaps at Oliver, who was rather expecting it and smoothly slides out of the way. But Nott is quicker than Oliver'd estimated by the size of him. Before Oliver can turn around to face him again, Nott has him pinned to the bookshelf instead. Oliver thrashes, trying to escape from the iron grip. He closes his eyes, trying to drag in a harsh breath.

And suddenly, Avior Nott is flying across the aisle and crashing into the opposite shelf with such force that the entire thing comes clattering down on top of his head.

Tiny little Percy Weasley, not quite four feet tall and skinny as a beanpole, is standing there with his hands splayed out – when Oliver watched him do absolutely nothing while Nott was after Percy himself.

"Um, oops?"

And Oliver can't help himself. He explodes with laughter. It's just such an amusing image, this tiny kid looking apologetic because he took down a bully of a fourth-year.

"Nice work, kid," Oliver scrapes out in between chuckles.

Percy shrugs. "He wasn't exactly behaving pleasantly."

Oliver smirks. "You talk odd."

"Oddly," Percy corrects without even thinking.

Oliver rolls his eyes. "Sure, kid. Sure."

"You know," Percy says affably, "I'm likely not even that much younger than you. Nearly at year, at absolute maximum."

Oliver smirks, ruffling the boy's hair in a condescending way on purpose. "September birthday, kid. September 7."

Percy scowls at both the hair ruffling and the fact that Oliver is, in fact, nearly an entire year older than he is, given Percy's August birthday. He looks off to the side a bit sullenly, and his eye catches Nott still enveloped in fallen books. "Perhaps we ought to let someone know? What if he's hurt?"

Oliver shrugs flippantly. "So what if he is? He's a total prat, trust me. We've met. Besides, somebody'll heal him eventually – it's not like a stack of books is going to kill him. We should get out of here, though."

Oliver leads the way out of the destroyed aisle, Percy glancing backward more then once.

Without even thinking, Oliver heads straight toward the Quidditch aisle. He doesn't see Percy wrinkle his nose, but he does come to an abrupt realization.

He turns around, grinning widely. "You're the boy who doesn't like Quidditch," he says.

Percy shrugs sheepishly. "And you're the boy who loves it inordinately much."

Oliver laughs. "Seriously kid, what'd you do, swallow a dictionary?"

"How would a dictionary fit down my throat?" Percy asks, frowning.

Oliver shakes his head, looking as though he's wondering what planet Percy's from. "It was a joke, kid."

Ducking his head, Percy flushes softly. "Oh. Then I suppose so, in a way. I just read a lot."

"Doesn't that get awful boring?" Oliver asks as he turns back to face the bookshelf, scanning the spines.

"Awfully," Percy corrects without thinking. "And no, it's quite fascinating, really. Besides, _you're_ looking for a book right now."

Oliver shrugs. "That's different." He tilts his head to read a title written in a cluttered script. "That's Quidditch. And besides, I don't sit around _all_ day with a book."

"Nor do I," Percy says quietly. His tone causes Oliver to pause, and he turns slowly. Percy looks a bit miffed.

"Aww, come on, kid. I didn't mean anything by it."

Percy's chin is tilted down and he's looking up at Oliver – who's taller by at least half a foot – through his unusually thick eyelashes, and the wide lenses of his glasses make his blue eyes look exceptionally large, and Oliver can't help but think that this kid could get away with murder, with an expression like that.

Oliver sighs. "Sorry, Percy."

The corners of Percy's mouth turn up gently. "That's okay. It's only… I do more than just read books, you know. Just because I don't play Quidditch, doesn't mean I don't do anything at all."

And that's plenty close to talking about _feelings _for Oliver, who turns back to face the thankfully emotionless books. "I know," he says flatly.

He hears Percy settle down behind him – on the floor, Oliver guesses, because there isn't really anywhere else to sit.

"Are you supposed to be anywhere?" he asks without turning around.

There's a rustling noise which Oliver assumes is Percy forgetting that Oliver can't see him and attempting nonverbal conversation. After a moment, Percy's voice rises, slightly embarrassed. "No. Well, here, but I'm finished collecting my books, so I just have to wait for Mum. She's at Gringotts with Fred, George, Ron, and Ginny, because they all need constant monitoring." Oliver can hear the bit of smug superiority in Percy's voice – Percy's proud that he doesn't need constant monitoring.

"How many siblings do you _have_?" Oliver realizes suddenly that that was four names, and he has a suspicion there might be more.

"Six," Percy says matter-of-factly. "Bill and Charlie are older though; they're with dad getting Bill an owl. He's a prefect this year, you know." Percy seems exceptionally proud of this fact as well.

"_Six_?" This is foreign to Oliver, who is an only child. "That'd be amazing. It's just me at my house."

Percy laughs once, almost derisively. "Amazing? I can't even _think_."

Oliver plucks a promising looking book off the shelf and flips through it. "Still. You must never get bored."

Percy sighs. "Trust me. You're lucky being an only child." Oliver tucks the book under his arm and turns around. Past Percy, he sees his Da standing at the end of the aisle.

"Done, Oliver?" his Da asks, grinning. Oliver holds up the book, and his Da nods. "Let's go, then."

Oliver nods, following him. He turns once at the end of the aisle. "Bye, Percy," he says, lifting a hand.

"Goodbye, Oliver," Percy says primly. Oliver's not quite sure, but after he turns, he would almost swear he heard a small voice whisper, "Thanks."


	3. Chapter 3

Percy has always been rather perceptive, for his age. It comes, he thinks, from having Fred and George as siblings. With them around, Percy feels like he has to be on constant alert, all the time. Because of this high level of alertness, though, Percy notices things. He understand _people_ – the intricate connections between them. He understand how tenuous and fragile the surface connections are, but how infinitely deep the truth goes. And he sees how each spiderweb-thin tension-wire-strong line crisscrosses and interconnects so that everyone is laced together. He only needs moments of observation to map a whole community of people out in his mind.

This skill is the reason that Percy sits with Bill on the train. Between Bill and Charlie, Bill has the greater protective instinct, and a higher threshold for annoyances. Not that Charlie would kick him out – not at all. But it would bother Charlie more than it would bother Bill, and Percy doesn't want to be a bother.

Then again, he'd also contemplated sitting by himself. He'd measured out the relative merits of sitting with his Prefect brother and Bill's friends – meaning Bill would have to do rounds of the train, at some point, and Percy would be left alone with said friends – versus sitting by himself and potentially having a compartment to himself the whole ride, but also potentially sitting with strangers for the whole trip.

He'd chosen Bill.

He sits curled up in the corner by the window, legs tucked under himself, _Hogwarts: A History _open on his lap. He listens with half an ear as the older boys chatter about girls and classmates and people that Percy doesn't know. Bill laughs and jokes with them, but Percy senses that Bill is trying to reorient himself now that Percy's there. He can tell that it's making Bill feel uneasy and out-of-place, and that Charlie never sat with Bill and his friends on the train, or Bill wouldn't be so unnerved. As well as Percy can reckon, Bill's never had friends and siblings mix before, and he doesn't like it. He can tell that Bill doesn't know whether to talk to Percy and try to bring him into the conversation, or to leave it alone.

Percy says nothing. It's up to Bill to find the solution that he can live with.

Bill says nothing. To Percy, anyway.

Eventually, about a half hour into the ride, Percy slides his book back into his book bag and slings it over his shoulder. He stands up and taps Bill gently on the shoulder. "I'm going to find a seat," he says softly.

Bill looks him in the eye. Percy isn't sure what Bill sees in his eyes, but apparently it's enough. He nods. "See you in Gryffindor, kid," Bill says, grinning gently.

Percy presses his lips together tightly. After only a moment, he nods. "Right," he says, and then his slips out the compartment door.

As he travels down the corridor of the train, Percy peers in every window, hoping to, by some miracle, find an empty compartment. No such luck, of course. When he passes Charlie, his brother is in mid-laugh and looks too happy for Percy to disturb him. He finds only one other familiar face – it's Oliver Wood, the boy who Percy's still not entirely sure what to think about. Oliver is sitting with another boy that Percy doesn't know – a boy with sandy blond hair and an easy smile.

After a moment's hesitation, Percy knocks gently on the door. The blond boy looks up first, and his eyebrows furrow. His lips move, and then Oliver's gaze follows his. Percy watches recognition dawn in the hazel eyes. Oliver stands up and slides the door open. "Hey, Percy."

Percy's lips curve up at the edges. "Hi, Oliver. Could I sit here?"

Oliver glances at the blonde, who shrugs. "Sure," Oliver says, patting the bench beside him as he sits back down.

Percy sits down slowly, his hands wrapped tightly around his book bag – nervously, almost.

"This is Roger," Oliver says. "Roger, this is Percy."

Roger nods at him, and Percy nods back.

And while Percy doesn't release the too-tight grip on his bag the whole time, it's better than making Bill feel awkward, so it's all right with him.

* * *

Roger – whose last name turns out to be Gershwood – winds up in Hufflepuff. Percy's been watching every sorting carefully, because something like this is a virtual gold mine for someone like him; so many relationships between people are exposed in such a short amount of time, and even the satisfied silence speaks volumes, because it reveals mountains of expectations without any words necessary.

And because he's been watching so carefully, Percy knows full well that there hasn't been a single Gryffindor boy sorted yet – and only he himself and Oliver Wood are left.

"Weasley, Percy!" Professor McGonagall calls. Percy glances at Oliver, then at Bill, then at Charlie, and then he climbs the stairs and puts on the hat.

"Mmm, interesting. You've got an old mind for such a young child. Very wise, with such a thirst for intelligence, and a great love of the rules – above all else, the rules. And yet, the sheer perceptiveness. And then there's the ambition, the _drive. _But you'll do anything when you've got good enough reason to, won't you – when the pros outweigh the cons, it stops mattering what the cons are, doesn't it? Interesting. Very interesting. You, child, could go almost anywhere, and be almost anyone."

_I have to be a Gryffindor_, Percy thinks. _I have to._

The hat almost seems to chuckle."And why might that be?"

And Percy's mind flickers to Bill's words in that train car. _"See you in Gryffindor, kid."_ And he said it so matter-of-factly, like there wasn't a doubt in Bill's mind that Percy would be a Gryffindor, and so now Percy has to be, to live up to that. He has to.

"I see. Better be GRYFFINDOR!"

And Percy allows himself only a tiny, satisfied smile as he hops off the stool and joins his brothers at the Gryffindor bench. Charlie unfold himself from the bench and walks over to him, ruffling Percy's hair and saying quietly, "Congrats, kid." Percy smiles up at him, and Charlie returns to his seat.

"Wood, Oliver!" Professor McGonagall calls. This time, the hat doesn't seem to waver as much – it deliberates only briefly before calling out, "GRYFFINDOR!"

And Percy cheers as loudly as everyone else at the table.

Oliver flops down on the bench beside him, a careless grin splayed across his face.

"We did it, eh, Percy? You and me."

And Percy doesn't, in this moment, want to question how easy this all feels, because he knows that it can't last forever, so all he wants to do is savor it for now.


	4. Chapter 4

They're still riding the same high of euphoric kinship later that night, when Oliver has already owled his parents, as has Percy. They finally begin to unpack, chattering all the way.

"C'mere, look at this," Oliver says suddenly, as he opens his trunk. He reveals the interior, which contains his prized possession – a top of the line racing broom. Percy bounds over to look, but his face becomes, unexpectedly, horrified.

"First years aren't allowed to have brooms!" he says.

"I don't think you understand. This is a Nimbus 1500!"

"But first years aren't allowed to have brooms!" Percy reiterates, apparently unfazed by the model. But then, Oliver supposes, it likely means nothing to him.

Oliver shrugs. "So? It's not like I'm going to be stupid about it; who says they have to know?"

Percy looks completely appalled. "Oliver, rules are for a reason!"

Oliver shakes his head and closes his trunk, figuring that Percy will just never understand – it's just one of those things. They're just too different. He doesn't expect anything more to come of the incident. He certainly doesn't expect what Percy does next, but the following night, Professor McGonagall weaves her way through the Gryffindor common room. She stops at the table where Oliver is sitting.

"Mr. Wood, a word?"

"Sure, Professor," Oliver says. "What's this about?"

Percy appears at her elbow. Something sinks in Oliver's stomach at the look on Percy's face – a bit defiant, almost, but sure.

Professor McGonagall nods at Percy. "Mr. Weasley has informed me that you have possession of a broomstick, Mr. Wood. I'm quite sure you're aware of the rules – this particular one was on every single supplies list sent to the first years."

Oliver is briefly stunned. He can't quite believe that Percy went to a teacher – it's just not on. He glances at Percy, who won't quite meet his eyes, but doesn't look regretful in the slightest.

Oliver sighs. "Yes, Professor."

"You understand, then, Mr. Wood, that I shall have to confiscate the broom. You may mail it home, or I can keep it until the holidays when you may take it with you."

"All due respect, Professor, I don't think that's fair."

Professor McGonagall raises an eyebrow. "You think, then, Mr. Wood, that you are above the rules? Because let me assure you, you are not."

Percy looks smug now.

"No, Professor." Oliver refuses to drop his gaze. "It's just, that rule is to keep the firsties who don't know how to fly safe. I've been on a broom since I was three. I haven't fallen in over seven years. I'm not stupid, and I know how to fly."

"Able flier or not, you are not above the rules, Mr. Wood."

"Professor-"

"No buts, Mr. Wood. You may fetch your broom now."

Oliver can tell when he's being dismissed, but he can't help but glare at Percy first. Percy drops his smug gaze to the carpet, and some vindictive part of Oliver feels victorious.

He slips reluctantly up the stairs, gently taking out his Nimbus and carrying it back down.

He approaches Professor McGonagall, deliberately avoiding looking at Percy. "You'll be careful with it, won't you Professor?" Oliver can't quite bear to let go of his grip on the handle.

Professor McGonagall's eyes dance in amusement, but her face remains stern. "I can assure you, Mr. Wood, no harm will come to your broomstick while it is in my possession. You may retrieve it just prior to the beginning of the holidays."

She puts a hand out for the broom. Oliver puts the handle in her palm, but he still can't release it.

"Professor-"

"I will not change my mind, Mr. Wood, no matter how convincing you think your argument may be."

Oliver's face falls, but he nods. "Yes, Professor," he says, finally letting go of the handle of his Nimbus.

She turns to Percy, nods, says, "Thank you, Mr. Weasley," and then she walks away.

"Oliver-"

"Don't. Don't even," Oliver says angrily. He glares fiercely at Percy. "I trusted you!"

Percy still doesn't look sorry. "It's against the rules, Oliver!"

"Rules are, very often, too broad," Oliver says. "They apply to a select few people, but authorities apply them to everyone in order to enforce them. But sometimes some of us don't need the rule – we know better. And that's when I think it's okay to use our own judgement. _I can fly_. I don't need that rule to keep me safe!"

"Rules are rules!" Percy insists.

"And friends are friends," Oliver shoots back. "And you aren't one of mine!"

Oliver sees the hurt in Percy's eyes, and he gets a vindictive sort of pleasure out of it. He wants Percy to hurt – because he himself is hurting. Without knowing it, he _trusted_ Percy, and it hurts to have that trust broken. And what hurts the most is that Percy still doesn't seem to understand. Percy still seems to think that he made the right choice, that he did the right thing.

"Merlin, but you're a right prat, aren't you?" Oliver spits out.

Percy reels back as though hit, and Oliver stalks up the stairs. In that moment, he couldn't care less if he never had to talk to Percy Weasley ever again.


	5. Chapter 5

Percy looks up in surprise as he hears the dull _thud_ of a book hitting the wall and an accompanying moan of frustration. He calmly tucks his bookmark into his book and swings his legs off the side of his bed from where he was reclining against the headboard.

He gently picks up the book from where it lies pages-down on the floor, the spine cracked open. _A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration_. He glances over at Oliver, who has his head buried in his hands. For a moment, Percy wavers. He cannot decide whether it's best to leave Oliver alone – as he has been doing for the past three weeks – or attempt to help the frustrated boy.

Eventually, Percy takes a timid step forward, and then another until he's standing silently beside Oliver, who still hasn't noticed him. Percy puts the book down on the bed lightly. As Oliver still hasn't raised his head, Percy resigns himself to speaking first, although he knows he'll muck it up.

"You oughtn't throw them, you know. The spines are rather fragile."

Oliver's head snaps up, his brown eyes fiery.

"Is that all you do, Percy? Tell other people what they _'oughtn't'_ do?" He draws out the word oughtn't, turning it into a complete mockery. Percy recoils, tipping his head down.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs softly. "It's just…" He stops. He doesn't need to make this any worse. "I'm sorry," he says again. "For everything," he adds after a moment. "I didn't… I didn't know how much it meant to you. I should have realized."

Oliver twists his mouth wryly at Percy. "But you'd still have done it, just the same."

And Percy finds that he cannot lie. "It's rather likely."

"I thought so." Oliver frowns. "Why?" he asks carefully. "Why does it matter so much to you?"

"Because it's _right_. Because it's the _rule_," Percy says emphatically.

"And I've already explained my opinion on _that_."

Percy frowns, pursing his lips. "Yes, you have." His tone is frigid. After a moment, he sighs. "What you don't seem to see, though, Oliver, is that without rules everything is chaos. If everyone decides that the rules don't apply to them, then society cannot function efficiently."

"Everyone blindly following the rules would cause just as many issues!"

Percy blinks, startled. That's actually the first time anyone has ever made that argument, and Percy is hard pressed to refute it. Eventually, he shakes his head.

"The rules of Hogwarts are created by a just Headmaster and a just school board. They are designed for the safety of the students. I have to believe that rules created by an authority that is trustworthy are rules that should be followed."

"I'm not really in the mood to argue over this, Percy." He glares at the Transfiguration book on his bed. "I've got work to do."

Percy hesitates. He hesitates for a long time. But then, eventually, he says, "I could help you, if you'd like?"

Oliver meets his eyes carefully before glancing at the book again. "No, thanks," he finally says. Percy nods, refusing to show his disappointment.

"All right. If you ever need any help…"

Oliver nods, and Percy returns to his book.

.

"Mr. Wood, Mr. Weasley, if I could speak to you for a moment," Professor McGonagall says as they pack up their things after class.

"Yes, Professor."

Percy is still rolling up his parchment of notes as Oliver approaches his desk. "What is this, Mr. Wood?" the Professor asks softly, tapping something on her desk. Percy watches Oliver duck his head as Percy dries the tip of his quill and sticks it in his bag, standing up.

" 'M sorry, Professor. I just… I read the textbook, I promise. But I couldn't make sense of it," he mumbles quietly. Percy, sensing Oliver's embarrassment, stands still until Professor McGonagall beckons to him. Standing beside Oliver, he can't help but glance at what the Professor was gesturing to – it's an essay. Oliver's essay. The mark across the top is a large, red-inked T.

"Sometimes, Mr. Wood, we need to hear things phrased differently, in order to process them properly." She looks at Percy. "If Mr. Weasley is amenable, I'd like to assign you tutoring sessions with him. Twice a week, for at least an hour."

Percy nods. "Of course, Professor."

Oliver, on the other hand, looks mortified.

"Two hours a week?"

"Yes, Mr. Wood. Until your marks improve, at least."

"But Professor-"

"I will accept no protests, Mr. Weasley. This is not an option." She taps the essay. "I know for a fact that you are smarter than this."

Oliver ducks his head again. "Yes, ma'am."

"Good." She nods in satisfaction. "I'll leave it to the two of you to decide the place and time. Mr. Weasley, would you mind keeping me informed of any progress?"

Percy nods. "Of course, Professor."

"Very well. That is all, boys."

.

Oliver drops his head to the table with a loud thump. "I just don't get it, Percy! No matter how many times you say it, it doesn't make any sense!"

Percy frowns. "If you just tried-"

"I am trying! I know you don't think I am, but I am! I'm just stupid, apparently!"

"You're not stupid," Percy murmurs.

Oliver finally stops his ranting. "You don't think I'm stupid?" This fact appears to come as a shock to him.

Percy shakes his head violently. "No, I don't. You just think in a different way than I do. That's all right. I just have to figure- That's it! How could I have been so blind?"

Oliver looks utterly baffled, but Percy pays him no mind as he leaps out of his seat and disappears in the stacks. After a few moments, he finds what he's looking for.

He flops the massive pile of books down on the small library table with a bang_. _Oliver groans. "No, Percy. I am not reading all of those."

"They're not for you to read," Percy says, distractedly flipping through the titles. "They're for me."

He pulls out one of the ones near the bottom and shows Oliver the cover. _Quidditch Terminology for the Quidditch Impaired_. Oliver grins. "They've got you pegged, don't they? 'The Quidditch Impaired.'" Percy scowls, but he knows his eyes are dancing with amusement. He can acknowledge his own inadequacy in this area.

"I'm going to teach you Transfiguration – in your language." He smirks, and Oliver laughs.

And while their friendship is now as tentative and fragile as a spider's web, it exists once more, and that's progress.


End file.
